


Triumphs of a Lesser God

by darkrabbit



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M, Spiritual, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 10,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrabbit/pseuds/darkrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Eleventh Doctor is heavily pregnant with Jack's baby. They are waiting for the pie Eleven made at the end of Hello, Casanova to get out of the oven. Then a certain damn fine angel crashes the party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh. Oh! Goodness me. Jack, if you travel much farther south, I think you might hit California!”

 

Naked except for a few patches of smooth white flour, the Doctor held his heavy belly while Jack explored, his psychic senses feeling every kiss the man so lovingly planted on the soft, almost downy landscape of his growing stomach.

 

Jack looked up from his work for a moment, caught that pretty green gaze and then promptly chuckled against the Time Lord’s girth, smushing handsome face into a hard bulge of thick belly. Then he sighed and tried to speak from his…unique position.

 

“Hey Love Sandwich! About California… were you referring to Baja or Los Angeles?”

 

“Los Angeles, obviously. They have all the cute baby clothes. And David Bromstadt. I seem to recall you fancied him…”

 

“And fish tacos, my verdant love,” Jack choked as the Time Lord reached down and pinched a rock hard nipple. “…please, sit down on the bed. I don’t want you passing out because you locked your knees.”

 

The Doctor shivered, suddenly remembering the pie in the oven. “You know, I probably should check the pie. It could be overdone.”

 

Jack released his lover’s swollen girth, then stepped back, grabbing a chicken & egg theme hot pad from the cream granite counter. “Just don’t overdo it, you.”

 

“Hen.”

 

“Oh? I’m not the one who’s about to give birth any minute. Have you seen yourself?”

 

Theta Sigma, Time Lord, Snarky Bastard, Grandfather and French Cook Extraordinaire, did nothing. He only stared, the image in the oven door catching his sudden and complete attention. There seemed to be a strange image in the shiny stove door, refracted from a soap bubble floating above the sink… what? No, it couldn’t be…

 

Concern flashed across Jack’s brain, and he rose to go to him, to take the Doctor’s shoulders in his hands, but he didn’t reach him in time.

 

Two perfect shadows rose over the room then, set in the middle by a figure rapidly plummeting as from some great height.

 

The Doctor’s body flew into surprised motion, his naked feet sliding backward until his spine thudded hard against a suddenly padded wall. He slid to the ground in a heap, dizzy and dazed,  and then everything along the front wall, those chicken curtains, the big cream cabinets, even that lovely oversized porcelain kitchen sink, instantly sped away from them both, zipping into the background faster than a rack of guns in a Matrix movie. And the sink was growing…

 

Jack cried out to him, but got no answer. He scrambled to his feet, tripped and fell over bits of still-hot stove and crisping, blackened pie, trying to get to Him. Finally after blindly running forward with his hands out, avoiding the growth of the now swimming pool sized kitchen sink, he reached, only looking down when he felt  the Time Lord weakly clutch his shaking, sweaty fingers in a cold hand.

 

“I think we’ll soon have ourselves a guest, Jack,” the alien slurred, still dizzy from the rapid renovation, “…but I don’t remember ordering a pool.” Then he slumped over, temporarily senseless.

 

Then a great and strange shadow broke over them, heavier now, grander and grander, until the newly grown ceramic –pool- erupted in a splash of waves, covering everything with wet.

 

After a few moments, the sound of quiet strokes -if a bit awkward and course- could be heard, and soon a hand emerged from the water. That hand was attached to an arm in a black suit. The black suit, which covered a crisp white shirt perfectly accented by a classic black tie, was worn by a man, a thin, pale human with black scruffy hair and blue eyes and this… look… of utter calm, dotted with the butter of too much knowledge, the cinnamon-spice of angst.

 

Jack got down on one knee beside the water’s edge, grabbing the pretty man by the collar and hauling him halfway out. The drenched man nodded his gratitude, causing his nose to bleed dark drops that soon became a stream. But those blue eyes never closed, never wavered as he looked to the Doctor then raised an elbow to prop himself on the side of the pool wall, freeing his other hand, which, surprisingly, held a bent up kitchen utensil.

 

“Melon Baller.”

 

The man’s brow pursed, and he stared quizzically, as if surprised he’d shown up when he did. Obviously this type of entrance was a favorite pastime…

 

But before Jack could comment, Blue Eyes coughed again, heaving a pint or more of blood onto the Time Agent’s knees before collapsing forward, which turned him just as senseless as the pregnant Time Lord against the opposite wall.


	2. Chapter 2

Gray smoke rose from green hills, the sounds of battle speeding through the once-snowy landscape of Colorado. The ash of bodies drifted in the air now, mingling with breaths and the sweat and blood of mortals.

 

And angels.

 

And demons.

 

All that fire the angels and their fallen brothers had brought to bear upon the Ancient Enemy had turned the Midwest into a wasteland… Holy and Unholy retribution had only served to anger the things, to swell their ranks, to… Gabriel shuddered, despite his vessel… Feed them. This carnage was only the first wave.

 

Because,

 

After the Apocalypse…

 

After the Apocalypse, something far worse had awakened, in God’s absence.

 

Somehow a Great Old One was stirring from the depths of sleep.

 

Archangel Gabriel raised his hand to the fray, thinking wistfully about his iTunes account as he blasted another wave of Damn Monsters to temporary oblivion with a nice timely finger snap. Then he smiled down at the masses of grey tentacles and toothy mouths and eyes that were blacker than dear brother Lucifer’s moods. Things had well and truly gone to Hell after Castiel took Michael’s place as an Archangel. But it hadn’t been little brother’s fault. He’d tried, died, Fallen and Risen, and gone and been the best of them all. He’d sought to find God, and failing that, brought order to Heaven in His stead, for as long as it had lasted. And those three short mortal years, barely a few breaths in a human’s lungs, had been… nice.  For some reason it reminded Gabriel of that scene in ‘Blade Runner’, when the Lovers find the origami unicorn. Life after Roy. Life after Understanding, after Transformation, Realization. But no angel claimed to know what waited for them afterward. The humans, at least, were assured the relative safety of Heaven or Hell at the time of ending. Ah, Castiel, sweet Castiel… where was Father when you needed Him? Well, Little Brother had done more for Creation lately than Daddy had. Which was why Gabriel was here now, helping some of the little humans Castiel loved so well to escape.

 

“You had better be breathing, Castiel, for both our sakes. Let’s just hope the old goat’s still alive!”

 

Then he yelled a few hallelujahs, slapped his ass, and raised both hands.

 

“Come and get some prime rib Archangel meat, you bitches!”

 

And then the things descended on him like a roiling wave of diseased fog, which was funny, because he was standing barefoot in the last patch of snowy ski slope in America.

 

Things had been so much simpler with Sam and Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor fought the urge to stroke his pregnancy as he probed, settling feather touches of mental presence on the mind of the man who lay in the bed before him. Jack had dragged them both to the Med Bay, which the TARDIS had of course moved next door in the wake of the surprise add-on pool their visitor’s arrival had necessitated. Perhaps he had too soon dismissed the sharp hint of regret from Her, his Blue Beauty of a ship, at having to manhandle him so thoroughly, but now was a time for investigation. As Jimmy Novak’s borrowed body had indeed landed in said pool, and that meant a dark and looming mystery was afoot; a mystery which the being inhabiting Jimmy’s body could very well answer.

 

“Castiel? And Jimmy?” He asked softly, brushing the hair from Jimmy’s pallid face, “I know you’re both in there, hiding. And it’s all right. I’m here. Uncle’s here, Castiel.  We are all of us here in this moment, at this time and this place. Try and tell us what’s wrong.”

 

Suddenly a screaming torrent filled his ears; Jimmy’s mouth moved, and more dark blood bubbled from the man’s throat, as if he’d swallowed glass. But a light shone from between those pearly teeth, and from the blood encrusted nostrils, and from the closed blue eyes bruised over with purple and hardship. Castiel was waking up.

 

“You… should be resting,” the angel whispered harshly, dark blue eyes glittering and fixed on the reason for the Time Lord’s extra weight. Then the Doctor put a finger to his lips and shushed him, which only works if one is five years old and unaware of the power children have over grandfather figures. “I destroyed a utensil.”

 

“I noticed, stubborn boy. Well it was very good work! Always hated that thing because it wouldn’t fit onto the console properly. I used all my rubber bands and a tube of relatively new gorilla glue, too. Who do you think you are, coming out here without some kind of specialized teleportation aid? Even an Archangel would’ve had trouble, this deep in space.”

 

Castiel said nothing, only continued to stare at the Doctor’s distended stomach, his mask of Jimmy Novak grave and fascinated.

 

The Time Lord pursed mental lips at that, paused, frowned, then reached out to feel Castiel’s Vessel’s forehead.

 

“Gaah. Two words,” he murmured, bending close to a borrowed ear, “… use two words to tell me what’s gone pear shaped. And when I get back from waking Jack up you are going to explain yourself; until then, I expect you both to be asleep, do you hear?”

 

Castiel, Angel of Thursday, nodded, then reached down and grabbed the silvery side of the medical bed he occupied and sat up, shoving his free hand out and plastering the fingers as gingerly as he could against the Doctor’s pregnancy, clutching carefully to his Grace the life that grew there. He cocked his head, despite cobalt eyes swimming in the half dark of fatigue, and met the gravid alien’s saucer faced, shivering wet surprise with the steel of absolute faith.

 

“Shub Niggurath.”

 

There wasn’t even a flash.

 

Existence folded, and something howled at its edges, throbbing dark and hungry in the deep like flesh in the throes of systemia.

 

Then, his feet touched snow, himself gentled by hands and cloth and faces long unseen.

 

And soon he could sense nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

In the dark, Shub Niggurath waited.

 

The Dark was comely, like a womb asleep and fruitful. And it was full of Shub Niggurath. There was no space to move, yet there were endless rooms and wandering paths to explore, random ways wrought by the dying of the previous universe in brilliant hues of blood and vibrant shades of vomit. Even now, those colors marked themselves in deep shapes of despair, trumpeting forever into the wilderness stretching behind the Old One’s memories of flesh. It had owned flesh once, had walked in the sun and the stars and the sweet dust of worlds as master, joying with its brethren in the saccharin of chaos.

 

Life had been a heady draught of nonsense… and Death, it was merely the replenishment of shallow pain forgotten by recycled flesh. Both were a cycle, a lesson in futility. As a god, Shub Niggurath had retained no care for these things, and with his brothers and his sisters he had ravaged and raged across Time, across Space, over and under and through and between like eels among the shoals. Together, they had looked upon the Tapestry of Creation and laughed as they snipped the strings they had no uses for… And why not? Good and Evil were dead. They had not caused it. They were not responsible. They had merely lapped up the remains and digested, and known Godhood.

 

Now, this dark and this hole was his world. But he had given birth to many children, here in the Pit, and now their weight was pushing against that so thin membrane which prevented their freedom. This time, the physical representation of the Brane was on a piece of mossy detritus called Wales, atop the cliffs of Aberystwyth where an old monastery reached with crumbling fingers to the God that abandoned it so long ago. Was that little speck of dust still called Earth? Was the monastery still called Nematon? That once, his followers had come there, asking for him. Of course he had not heard. He had been dreaming.

 

The Veil of his prison had begun to dilate in his slumber, wounded by the grandness of war on a scale unfathomed by men or beasts since the days when Good and Evil were still kicking around the place.

 

Suddenly he moved; in the midst of contemplation his enormity shivering, straining.

 

Being of pure consciousness, he feels only the merest phantom pang of sensation, a thick plop. He watches transfixed as his tentacled get pour unto the tear in the Veil, growing it, ripping through the thin curtain toward the physical with their newly formed essence as they crowd each other mindlessly, hungering for any form of matter as they Fall and take form, that they might Feed. And from his cocoon of self-awareness, Shub Niggurath smiles down at them, wishing them strength, and prepares to bring forth another wave of his children, his Vessels, more of himself and his essence and influence, through the Veil.

 

Soon, the hole will be large enough for him to squeeze through. Afterward he will consume the Earth and all of his young, to grow strong again. Perhaps he will grow strong enough to raise his brethren from their sleep.  Or drink the sun in toast of their remains as he consumes the dusty memory of their molecules.

 

And what then, with such hunger so ravenous? Consume the entire system of Sol, then travel outward, where he would dine on every star, every system, every nebula and singularity, and revel in the carnage.

 

Ah, but for Xebulba, revisited.


	5. Chapter 5

“I told you wouldn’t be able to comprehend the possibilities of coalescence through temporal construction, Dean. It’s over your head.”

 

Castiel sighed, not because the Winchesters could not understand his explanation, but because he was weary. The Doctor was sleeping in the next room, and his Vessel was still adjusting to the weight of the Time Lord’s unborn child. It had been a precaution, he reasoned. And that precaution had been a necessary buffer against the strain of teleportation through time-space. The logic was simple enough.  The Time Lords of Gallifrey had altered themselves artificially in order to lessen the strain of travel through Time and Space, but angelic vessels needed no such enhancement. He and the Doctor had both passed out upon returning, yes, but he was resting now. And his human friends Dean and Sam had returned from their mission with the Émigré Manuscript in their… grubby little hands.

 

Dean Winchester snorted. “What are you saying, Cas? You think I’m too stupid to get it that you fucking zapped the Old Man and brought him here? Come on! Sam here made me watch Star Trek reruns when we were kids. This is bullshit, and I need pie.”

 

Castiel looked up, his mind nudging in wonder at the little life growing in his borrowed flesh. “That is a… first class TMI, Dean,” he murmured, suddenly keen to let his eyes slide closed. “And no blaspheming. It is not… not good for the child.”

 

“Oh what do you care, Castiel, it’s not like it’s your kid,” Dean teased, slapping the angel lightly on the back.

 

Swaying suddenly, Cas held firm to the edge of the seat and steeled himself, his free hand splayed across his temporary girth.

 

“ Woah, hey, hey Cas!  Take it easy. Your nose is bleedin’ again. But good for you. You just made a joke involving a pop culture reference.”

 

Dean watched his brother Sam walk barefoot into the little stone room, quiet and reverent, his big hands full of clean white cloth and a pillow. That brought a genuine smile to his face.  Sam had always been the sensitive one.

 

Together they helped their angel lie back down on the fainting couch, taking turns wiping away the weak streams of blood that sometimes dribbled from his left nostril. Hopefully it would stop soon… even some of his lesser-ranked kin were stealing concerned second glances now and again through the carved windows.

 

“Damn it, Sam, you see that? He’s bleeding again.”

 

“The room is spinning,” Cas murmured, opening his stormy blue eyes just long enough to lock on their faces. Then he closed them again, took a necessary breath, and was still. “…I… I think it will happen very soon. Even in This our Hour, there is still dissent, if minor. Some believe I should be out –there- leading the Host, instead of concealing the Doctor’s child from Shub Niggurath. They want me to abort her. I will not. She was conceived on Thors Day, and so she is my charge. Besides, the Doctor is needed at full strength for the reconnaissance mission to find the Son of God. My eldest brothers are here, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel. Even Lucifer works to keep the walls from tumbling.” The Angel paused, resting for a moment to ease the lingering weakness and the shortness of his breaths, then continued. “Dean. Sam. You are my friends, and you have been invaluable. When I think of what could have happened if you had not gone to retrieve the Émigré, I…” He paused, blinked, then sank his head back into the curves of stuffing and fabric.

 

 “Aw Christ, Sam. Poor bastard’s asleep already. He’s too damn pale; I keep telling him he should eat more Cheetos.” Dean was light about it, but truthfully, it hurt to see the angel weak after three good years of his being a BAMF.

 

Sam and Dean exchanged glances over Cas’s sleeping form, then carefully unfolded a length of white cloth and placed it over him like a blanket.

 

“I’m tellin’ you dude, he’s fucking Linus. Everyone knows that Linus was God in Peanuts. I mean, Cas fuckin’ zapped the TARDIS here without any help and went all kangaroo meets seahorse on us.”

 

Almost instantaneously, Castiel’s brows furrowed, and he moaned in his sleep.

 

Sam grinned, his own eyebrows raising a little as he lifted one of the dark, icy bottles he’d stuck behind the couch to his lips, then offered the other to his brother.

 

Dean took it, popped the thin serrated lid with his ring, and tipped it back. “At least he’s not sucking his thumb like you used to.”

 

With a growl, Sam bitchfaced. Everyone was worried. So was he. So was Dean. “I don’t like this, Dean. It’s a bag o’ dicks, and it’s supersized.”

 

Dean set his beer down and reached over to feel the sleeping angel’s forehead, then heaved a deep sigh and tucked another blanket around him, pulling it to his neck.

 

“Yeah. And we thought Lucy sucked ass.”

 

\---

 

Suddenly a tidy crash resounded from one of the adjacent rooms. Gabriel was back, and he’d landed, of all places, in the Doctor’s lap?

 

“… oh now would you look at that. Castiel is cute when he’s unconscious. Who would have guessed. I’m thinking ‘Three Amigos.’”

 

“Sod off, Gabriel. That one only worked on Helen of Troy because she was bi. And an alien.  Besides, I’m a married man with a baby on the way, technically. Now stop fidgeting and let me see where it hurts.”

 

“You’re the one who’s wearing a bowtie. I think that hurts enough. And you boinked the Virgin Queen, as I recall.”

 

“Bowties are cool. What? Oh good gravy don’t say that out loud! People will hear! And that was I’m-angsty-and-I-don’t-care-because-I-just dumped-my-girlfriend-and-I’m-about-to-die sex. Doesn’t count.”

 

They could almost hear Gabriel smirk from the other room as the Doctor looked the Archangel’s slowly sealing wounds up and down. “You and who else’s army, Uncle Metatron?”

 

Sam looked at Dean. Dean looked at Sam. Had the Doctor just said…

 

Helen of Troy? Really? Shit Jesus save Hellfire.

 

As they gazed down at Cas, a shadow fell across the small door which led to the Doctor’s room.

 

“You don’t say? Well damn.” Jack Harkness said to no one in particular, his face hot and pale with intent as he stood in the old stone frame, blocking all the light. He swallowed, adam’s apple limping like a broken bobber as he fumbled in his long blue coat.

 

With a sigh he raised his Webley, angled it just so…

 

“Meet me at 42nd Street, kids!”

 

The shiny barrel fit like a glove in his mouth, just like before. But it was too late.

 

Behind him, a piece of tentacle dropped from his hair, preventing his arm from tensing, his hands from pulling. If it tasted him… if it tasted him that alone would be enough to bring the Old One through. It could not happen.

 

But there, dazed and dreaming on the wide, white couch, his pregnant body nestled in snowy robes, the youngest Archangel shoved up on one arm and Spoke a name in his true voice, wringing salty blood from human ears.

 

Like the Buddha in Repose, Jack thought with a smile as warmth spilled down over his neck.

 

A shot rang, scattering birds from the tops of their sanctuary, a temple built around a crashed Vimana stuck in the icy slopes of Bhutan’s mountains. Invariably, brains rained over the room, and as they did that small piece of grey tentacle glowed white with the flaming lick of Castiel’s Word, then dropped to the stones of the floor, burning to nothing as all Jack’s pieces crawled backwards in time, toward each other, knitting in the afterglow of Holy Fire.


	6. Chapter 6

With the Doctor in tow, Gabriel popped into existence beside the couch just as Castiel collapsed forward.

 

“Crap. Michael, Raph, get in here. We’ve got a situation.”

 

A pale, elfish blonde man and a black man with a thin, pained face materialized abruptly, the only sign of their coming a soft, sea-scented breeze that cooled the room for the space of a few breaths. Each angel placed a hand on their brother’s back, one in front, one behind, bearing him up with only the barest brush of fingers.

 

Then they turned heads to Gabriel in unison.

 

“There is an outside influence affecting him,” Michael said, his fair, waifish vessel paling almost imperceptibly as he considered his words. “… his strange weakness has Shub Niggurath’s stench all over it. But he is holding. The child must be the reason for his sensitivity. Perhaps he was correct after all in his assumption.”

 

Raphael’s vessel’s plump, wide lips curled thinly downward. “I hope he continues to be so. He is our brother, after all. As the Morningstar is present and willing, we will not need Castiel’s assistance in positioning the Doctor’s ship.”

 

“And what does our dear uncle Metatron say to all of this? He will not be pleased to find you two have decided for him.” Another voice broke over the knife blade calm that seemed to follow the two angels wherever they traveled.

 

Silent as a hellhound, the Doctor suddenly copped an instant angel-skinning glower, but discarded it in favour of scrubbing a hand through his floppy hair in frustration. Then, he began twirling his fingers in the white silk sash that hung across his chest, idly humming a Kate Bush song.

 

“Now look here, you lot. I am here because Castiel brought me. HE deemed it necessary, which frankly with your track record is good enough for me. While you three are debating semantics, the Great Old One is advancing with every breath! Stop maneuvering. This is not about who has the biggest wings anymore. Ohhhh. Give me one of those!” He shoved Dean and Sam aside and reached down, grabbing a beer from the cooler behind the couch. And the cap, it must have been afraid of him, too, because it just... popped off. He never had to touch it.

 

Then Gabriel swiped a bottle, flipped off the cap with his thumb, clinked his bottle to the Doctor’s then took a swig.

 

“Good times, Gabby, good times. By  the way…” the Doctor’s face broke in a wide grin as he looked first at Jack, who was rubbing circles into Castiel’s back, and then at Gabriel, who gave a neat blush and smirked. “How is darling little Sleipnir?”

 

Gabriel blushed again and nodded.

 

Lucifer smiled at all of them, his last gaze resting on Gabriel. “About that incident at the hotel… no hard feelings, I trust?” He patted his brother’s unseen wings and vanished, his absence understating the room with hint of Sweet William and woody Thyme.

 

Gabriel sucked in a useless breath. “Well that was odd and completely fucking random.”

 

Dean stared at the spot where the Morningstar had been standing and notched his eyebrows a few decibels higher. “I would have totally gone with disturbing. But hey. You guys should probably go and take care of U-Hauling the TARDIS. Sam and I are here now. We’ll keep an eye on Cas. I mean, it’s not like you won’t come running if he has a problem again, right? Not after the ka ka del toro that just went down with Captain and Tennille.”

 

“I am an angel Dean, not the female half of a 70’s American pop group…” Castiel muttered without moving.

 

That time, even Michael laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

A few hours earlier…

 

Chuck Shurley sighed, half-wishing he were home with his cat and his desktop. Instead, he was in France. Well, an amalgam of a tiny piece of France -or was it Wales?-situated near the actual country only because Daddy and Space-Time had eloped and seen that it was Good.

 

 Castiel the Fearless Leader was cute, in a way. 4000 years old, and he still had no clue what a hot dog was or how to get the best deal on airplane tickets. Hell, he hadn’t even slept with anyone. Ever. Knowing Sam and Dean, they’d soon be taking care of that after all this blew over. Nevertheless, that boy sure could lead an army. All three of them were very good boys. Good men.

 

Suddenly there was a buzz in the pocket of Chuck’s 501s. He stuck his bony hand in, pulled out his cell and whistled as the text message screen flashed, frying his eyes for a moment.

 

When the glare cleared, he made out a few letters, sent from Gabriel’s hot pink glitter iPhone…

 

CG4TARDISGTGBB.

 

Okay. So Gabriel liked texting a little too much.

 

 ‘Castiel gone for TARDIS. Gotta go. Bye bye.’

 

So, Jimmy Doe-Eyes had finally gone to five-finger discount the Time Lord and his Ship. Castiel certainly had panache, especially since he and Lucifer had come up with a plan to trap Shub Niggurath before anyone else had. Life with Sam and Dean had really loosened him up for the better.

 

With a smile, Chuck stuck his cell back in the pocket of his jeans. It was nice and cool here. Made him glad he’d worn the white today; a ribbed white tank, a thin white Havana flowing open and inviting over that… white jeans ending in clean, bare feet.  It was kind of sad that no one had cottoned on except Gabriel. And Lucifer, of course. But eh. Water under the bridge. And over and through and between with a splash of vodka, as the Doctor would say. He was going to have to meet the man in this new regeneration, once he’d finished his task here. This place was a crossroads, a limbo anchored in the bones of the Monastery of Nemeton. It was a mid-way locale where the Host of Heaven and the Horde of Hell could meet their enemy and trap the Old One. That way, Shub Niggurath would finally die, or at least get that spanking he’d been gunning for. Well, that was the plan, anyway.

 

If he didn’t get another call in, oh… five… four… three… two… seconds! Oh, BINGO! It was time to instigate the next part of the plan; the part that involved his naked feet and the mile and a half of shattered skeletons that lay between him and his destination. It was a long, crunchy road. Good thing he had friends in high places. And he had endured a lot already for humankind. Why not a little bit more? It would be his pleasure. Besides, he was getting off easy.  The hard part would be convincing the Doctor to play the pig. Poor Castiel. Chuck didn’t envy him.

 

 

All that bone; the molecular structure of the bone cliff beneath Nematon had soaked up so much death… it prevented even demonic transport… no, he had to walk over all of it, every inch… spill his blood and pain into every shard, every bit of bleached and calcified dust, all the way to the Heart of the Veil. It would attract the tentacled things outside, slow them down, buy time until things at angel central began to heat up. With any luck, the brothers Winchester had returned with the Émigré manuscript by now and were hassling the archangels with it. What he was doing here, now, it was important. A backup plan in case the Doctor could not be found. Because the Great Old One would never bother with the diluted blood of a mere Vessel when he could have a Time Lord’s. Gallifrey’s children had once been winged, after all. And some had said the Doctor carried the pure blood of the Old Ones in his veins. Oh yes, Cas, Dean and Sam…the Three Amigos would try and use the TARDIS to get Chuck out, if they thought they had to. Once they found out who… He nearly laughed at that, the picture erupting in his mind of all four archangels, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel, each at a corner of the Time Lord’s ship, toting it like packages at Christ’s Mass under the sturdy death glare of Castiel’s deep blues.  And if the Doctor caught wind of the rescue mission, it would be the four Musketeers all over again. But regardless of the Doctor’s wishes, they had a duty to keep ‘Uncle Metatron’ far away from France.

 

Chuck smiled wanly as the first of the bone shurds sliced through his feet. Then he took another step. And another. Just a kilometer and a third to go. And there were scratching sounds behind him. Soon he would have to run.

 

Well there it was.

 

Quiet, stalwort, strangely unconventional Cas had truly gotten a chance to play Fearless Leader this time. And from Gabriel’s messages, everyone was surprised at how well he was doing.  He’d never been playing at anything.

 

Thank God for Thursdays and cats.


	8. Chapter 8

“…when and why did Chuck Shurley disappear from our sight?” Castiel called, suddenly zapping himself into the northern doorway which led from his little stone room.

 

“I desire answers. This is not a…” In his mind, he turned to Dean and muttered, looking pained, “…what is the word, when school boys tattoo each other and dip new initiates in alcoholic substances while hanging from their smallclothes?”

 

When he heard Cas speak in his head, Dean Winchester’s fingers uncurled from his beer bottle. Then the glass container slid to the ground, shattering all over Castiel.

 

“Oh God DAMN Cas don’t do that!” Dean stammered, brushing glass from the angel’s heels and calves. “Don’t step back, it’s sharp. You’ll cut yourself.”

 

Then he gasped, wincing as tiny particles of glass stuck in his fingerprint ridges, cutting into him like microscopic blades.

 

Castiel paused only long enough to snap his fingers; then the glass was a bottle again. Then he grabbed hold of the door, pretending to sway for a moment while Dean Winchester mouthed the right word to him, the young man obviously grateful for the lack of splinters in his hand.

 

“..frat party. I need to know we are doing all we can to prevent what must not come to pass.”

 

“Dude you sound like Gandalf,” said Dean, who looked at Sam and smirked. Both men then began mimicking a long pipe-smoking motion, holding one hand out and tapping the other on the side of the wall or whatever was handy. Suddenly both brothers disappeared; zapped to God knew where by the belle of the ball. Of course, he’d taped the instructions to their foreheads. Like a dutiful little archangel.

 

“Yes. I always liked him; very academic.” Lucifer spoke now, eyeing Cas’s belly as though something amusing would burst from it, cocking his blonde head and smiling through eyes of pleasant, cloudy grey.

 

“You shouldn’t tax yourself,” Lucifer murmured, weaving his upper body around Cas’s big girth so he could slip by and enter the room. He touched the angel’s shoulder, then knelt down and pressed an ear to the burgeoning flesh, “You and the Doctor are still connected. Any harm to you will, well… you know. On the other hand, the fetal hearts sound good and strong. Have you told him the sex yet, Cas?”  He turned to the Time Lord and beckoned with a single outstretched hand.

 

“Why no, Lucy, he hasn’t. Of course, I could have looked myself, had I a mind to have done.” the Doctor replied, scratching his head and grinning, his deep green eyes boring pin prick holes in the Morningstar’s back as he refused to take whatever bait the angel was dangling, “But I rather fancy the surprise. And if you step back from Castiel and my unborn child right now, I might be inclined to give you your sword  back.”  He held up a gleaming honey colored blade that shone like a sunset in his hand. “Nice workmanship, by the way.”

 

Lucifer froze, his hands nearly grabbing for the golden sword he kept hidden in his suit jacket before he caught himself.

 

“Ah, that’s better. If I didn’t know any better, and I don’t,” the Doctor prattled on, “I would almost think you intended to make an early withdrawal. Which would upset a great many of the beings in this room. You weren’t going to do any such thing, were you Lucy dear?”

 

Lucifer frowned, his eyebrows knotting halfway up his forehead. “ Uncle Metatron. For all those deserving, your hearts are large enough to hold creation, yet you still see conspiracy behind every stone, do you not?  I intended, and still intend, my golden sword to Castiel. He needs to be able to protect the child, should something… unforeseen occur.” He held out his hand, one naked hand upraised in supplication. The golden sword zapped out of the Time Lord’s hand, appearing again in Lucifer’s. “Why would I want to harm this little one, who sings so softly now beneath my brother’s breast? You look tired, Castiel. And Uncle as well.” Lucifer touched the alien’s forehead, and the Doctor swayed beneath that touch but did not fall. “Sleep, Uncle. Please.”

 

The Morningstar then brought his fist up, flew across the room, and shoved it into the Doctor’s waist, just below the navel. The Old Man gasped for air, then crumbled onto the Lord of Hell’s waiting arm. Almost instantly, Castiel paled and clutched at his stomach, his sagging body a lump of meat against the stone doorframe.

 

“I told you this was risky, Gabriel,” Lucifer said  as he let the Doctor slide down his leg and sink across the floor. Then he moved quickly to catch Castiel, whose eyes were rolling skyward even as the Doctor’s fluttered wildly beneath auburn lashes. “…but the risk of not doing this will be greater. While they are sleeping, we should move the TARDIS. It is not wise to have all three in the same place-time, and far better they not know its location until Shub Niggurath’s mess is cleared from the table.”

 

Gabriel flipped his phone off and sighed. “They’ll be sore at us, Lucy. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

Lucifer shrugged; it was a rhetorical gesture. “I always do. Do not look so upset, little brother. Uncle and Castiel are both resting comfortably. You know how stubborn they can be. They will benefit from this respite.” He turned his shining blade over and over in his hands, noting his own reflection in the gleaming metal. His hair was pixie short, pallid, blonde… his face fair, like sea foam. And his eyes, too, were the color of the ocean. “Am I still beautiful, Gabby?” he murmured as he moved to conceal the sword between the Doctor and Castiel. “Father has been gone so very long.”

 

Then he zapped himself away; appearing with a pallid, speechless Gabriel on the outside of the Doctor and Castiels’ rooms.

 

His fingers moved, twitching forward only the slightest fraction until the click of locks could be heard from every ingress. Then he bit his finger, drawing blood, and pressed the wound to the last lock. A soft glow emanated from everywhere…

 

Lucifer sighed, sucking at the digit. “Very well; it is done. They are sealed inside. Soon the hour will be upon us. We should leave and let Cas and Uncle sleep.”

 

Gabriel shivered when he saw the amount of blood he’d used to etch 696 Old Enochian sigils of highest warding on every door and crevice leading into or out of the little collection of rooms. “Wow, Luce… are you sure you used enough? I wouldn’t want to think you’d been lax.”

 

Lucifer grinned. “Shub Niggurath’s little pets will have a hard time getting inside the TARDIS’s defenses, let alone mine, and that is for the good. When the wards finally break, everyone will wake up. In the meantime, Chuck will soon be completing his task. He will use the Old Enochian Reverberant Trapdoor hidden in the stones of Nemeton, and return here.”

 

Michael walked up to them then, with Raphael close behind. Both archangels surveyed the wards Lucifer had placed, nodding to their brother with grim certainty.

 

“Brothers,” he began, taking his place at one corner of the TARDIS while his brothers did the same. He ran a hand through what had once been Adam’s sandy hair and frowned. “We go to war.”

 

Then together with the TARDIS, the four archangels vanished, leaving the Winchesters, the Doctor, the Angel of Thursday, and every living angel or demon locked safely within that crashed Vimana, somewhere in the mountains of snowy Bhutan.


	9. Chapter 9

Chuck stuck a finger in the air above the sigil, tasting it. Knowing Lucifer, he half-expected to find a lingering flavor of lemon scented furniture wax, or perhaps stinky tofu. Disgusting stuff. He should never have talked the Doctor into showing the Chinese how to ferment… anything.

 

But no. The air above the sigil was only a bit dusty. There were bones everywhere though, and crumbling stones and waste and mystery stains.  Still, he could smell Lucifer’s exquisite hand in the craftsmanship, the ark of a chosen finger dipped in archangel blood as it traversed the large long-buried megalith which would become the link between the Super Secret Hideout and the deep chasm that was Nemeton Monastery.  It was too good a choice morsel for Father’s old school chum to pass up.

 

Like any good author, he considered the Plan as he walked to the edge of the bone shard pathway to check on his pursuers. The Four Archangels were busy pretending to guard the TARDIS; the Doctor and Castiel were sleeping off Lucifer’s little hazing prank. The Boy Wonders were with them, thanks to an extra blood sigil mickey, also courtesy of Lucifer.

 

Ah, boys will be boys, he thought as he began to glimpse the countless pairs of sightless eyes that festered in the dark.

 

Hearing the cries of the seething newborn masses come ever closer, he snapped his fingers. His lawn chair appeared, unfolded and standing and everything, complete with a mint julep and a Panama hat; not the cheap Chinese paper version, but a true Montecristi superfino. He moved his finger upward, levitating the whole set-up over the sigil.

 

Then he sat down, donned his Panama, and began the short wait before the party.


	10. Chapter 10

The Man in Blue stood silently over the sleeping bodies.

 

“How long have you been here?” his longtime student asked him, stuffing a hand under the cloudy robe he wore as he slowly trudged behind his master.

 

The slightly wrinkled little bald man just smiled and rubbed his shiny pate, grinning like a boy more than half his age. Then he looked at his student, and spoke soft words.

 

“Long enough to know I would have been of more use had I been younger, my son.”

 

The student blinked, feeling his deep-sunken green eyes widen a fraction in the spilt light of early morning as questions came instantly to mind. How long had he been sleeping? And… was it over now? Oh, right, no. Course, it couldn’t be. There was still a baby to be born.

 

At that moment, the young angel who wore Jimmy’s body and carried the child of a Time Lord chose to rouse himself from the couch at the sound of his Father’s voice.

 

“Is it you at last, Father God? We are pleased, but… it has been so long.”

 

The little Man in Blue laughed sweetly. Then he held out his hand to the angel, who rose, hand to the pain in his back, to join his Father on the stones of the Vimana’s little room. It was one of many.

 

The student, clad in wide ribbons of cloudy fabric, came toward them. He took his teacher’s hand and placed it across his lower waist, the apex of his womb. “I am ready when you are, my teacher,” he said, his lips and eyes and all his face curling up in glory at Castiel.

 

Cho Ji Kanpoche Rinpoche smiled again at the both of them, turning his head so slightly as he placed the fingers of his left hand across the angel’s heavy belly. Had the angel felt him kiss his forehead and whisper ‘ _many mansions’_? Castiel could not tell.

 

He began to glow. Light splintered before him, because he had come before the light, and it swam in pieces in every direction between and over and through, filling every space, every hole, every nook and dark place.  

 

Then he was gone. His student the Doctor had sunk to the floor, his hands against the finely cut stones,  lungs clutching for breath against the waves of life which crashed through his once-more swollen girth. Castiel came to him, wings outstretched. It was time for the Time Lord to give birth. He bore up the alien with one hand placed upon the man’s bony back, collecting him in his arms as the man his uncle heaved great heaves, consumed with the all-important task. The Doctor, with his cries of pain, would soon rouse the others…

 

Tremors rippled through that alien body as it shoved, borne aloft by its natural brother in the history of all time’s ramblings. The wakening masses peered like children from their sealed rooms, throwing jewels and flowers they had found, pushing little missives through the window-curls of alien stone.

 

As the Doctor shivered in Thursday’s hands, wrapt in his throes, there was a thick uprush along what passed for the ground, and soon the 696 sigils written on the wreckage of the Vimana by the Morningstar began to glow. The ship was rising…

 

Castiel, angel of Thor’s Day, smiled down through his own fast weeping at his charge, as a temporal shift fluttered around the Vimana, swirling over it, drawing it to what was missing from the Vimana’s heart. Drawing them all to the TARDIS.

 

The Doctor gasped as pain slid through him like an avalanche of song. He needed to feel everything about this, he knew that much as he bucked upward in the angel’s embrace of arms and feathers, his body spewing blood over bright wings and blue eyes as he wriggled and squirmed and willed the child in him to come free.

 

Nearly there, just a few more hours… nearly there…

 

Soon, so very soon now, the Vimana would form around the TARDIS, which would then click into place in the centre like a keystone, and Castiel would be reunited with his brothers at Nematon. Chuck Shurley, however, would not be with them.

 

Because in a very short time the Doctor’s alien body would loose its waters over the blackened stones of the monastery catacombs , and all that had been Chuck Shurley would cease.


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh, is that all? Wow. I thought it would hurt more, wait... oh, jellies,” said the Doctor, gulping great gulps of air as his body pulsed with another sweaty contraction. “MY BROTHER IS COMING, WITH MANY FREMEN WARRIORS! OW OW OW!”

 

“...Uncle, I won’t pretend to understand that reference, but you may... break my hand as much as you need,” said Castiel flatly, rubbing the Time Lord’s forehead with another damp rag as his Vessel’s wrist was telescoped in another bone-shattering crunch of inhuman fingers.

 

“Castiel, I think... we’ve landed! Bear me up- we need...” the Doctor managed, grimacing through another contraction, “...we need to be out there, Wheel of Timing it on them bones! OH GOD, WHERE’S JACK? JAAAAAAAACK!”

 

A scuffling behind them somewhere, in the din of the console room.

 

“Here, honey, I’m here, I’m here,” Jack called, sliding onto his knees beside the Angel and his Time Lord, “...I’m right here. Hold on till we get there, Hot Stuff. Can you sense where we are?”

 

The Doctor pulled up on Castiel’s disturbingly bent and purple arm, then gritted a few choice words into the air along with some spittle and a glare that could skin a rabid camel at twenty paces, “...NO. SHIT. GAAAH!”

 

Suddenly a wet, hot something punctured him, a wiggly something that crawled tiny toes over the thick, swollen lips of his throbbing, fat vagina.

 

A foot, small and charming, was popping in and out. The foot of a baby. His baby’s foot.

 

With abrupt lack of composure, Castiel dropped the Doctor suddenly, forcing the Time Lord to gasp air as he turned ‘round. But his leg... was wrapped...

 

The Angel of Thursday scrabbled hands across the ground as he faded from view into the Pocket, dragged away by a solitary tentacle. Shadows bounded forth from the break, crossing close and closer, crunching quietly.

 

In Castiel’s wake, the Doctor cried without sound, breathless and bobbing as he mouthed a desperate mantra to his emerging child, “Please don’t touch the floor. Please don’t touch the floor. Please don’t touch the floor. Please don’t touch the floor. Please don’t touch the floor... Jack! Jack, where are you?”

But as the baby’s foot flowed downward toward the ruin of the rocky bone-coat covering the ground, what remained of Chuck Shurley was vomited from the fissure between realms, one long defeatist shard of plastic armchair, a naked leg cleanly minused its foot, and a blood-soaked Panama.

 

And as his dark, deep-body blood soaked into those ancient bones, the Doctor could no longer stop his muscles tensing around the baby, readying to shove.

 

So he shoved against the pain, against the Shadows... striving to give birth alone, in the dark.

 

All alone.

 

In the Dark.


	12. Chapter 12

“YOU WILL CHOKE AND DIE ON THE BONES OF YOUR PETS, TIME LORD, AND YOUR CHILD WILL BE UNBORN. REJOICE AT YOUR FATE, AND GIVE OVER TO ME!” came the sour thick echo through the bone-covered cavern, the terrible voice of Shub Niggurath, who had consumed his brethren in the Long Before.

 

As the Doctor’s limbs quivered from loss of blood and the sheer terror of his situation, the sound of rattling began to fill his ears.

 

Slowly, so slowly, and yet so swiftly too did the bones that littered the floor of the ancient catacomb squirm into motion, rising into mid-air to form titans of fixed-together tarsils and skulls, tibias and phalanges, rib cages and spines.

 

“My baby, my baby…” he sobbed, clutching his dilating belly as another contraction tore him, ripping through his bits, leaving him breathless.

 

“SHALL I SING A LULLABY BEFORE I EAT YOU, TIME LORD?” Shub Niggurath hummed from everywhere and nowhere, as the bone titans curled around the Doctor in a quickly closing ring.


	13. Chapter 13

“Eat this, Ass Butt,” a golden voice purred from the nearest titan, just as a golden sword plunged outward from its chest, slicing up and down in a star pattern.

 

“Lucifer!” the Doctor growled curling up as yet another contraction spiked through his slim frame, “The baby’s coming, I can’t... “

 

“Sure you can, Doctor, just think of it as… a honey trap. Heck, it worked on me. Oh for Daddy’s sake, haven’t you ever played Portal?”

 

The Doctor stared up, confused, until another contraction stole all remaining breath from his gasping lungs.

 

“I DON’T THINK SO, LITTLE ONE, OFF WE GO NOW.”

 

Lucifer’s voice suddenly cut off, and the Doctor moaned as another round of contractions sliced through his concentration. A dark shadow bubbled out in a disk of black liquid from the bone titan stuck through with the sword, swallowing the sword and titan both in a crunch of blowback implosion.

 

“LITTLE TIME LORD, HAVE YOU POPPED YET? I SO LOOK FORWARD TO SUCKING THE JUICE FROM YOUR NEWBORN’S BONES!”

 

“Oh you little, you can’t, I won’t let… you… ow owowowowoowowowow AGGGGHHHHH!”

 

Thick bloody fluid suddenly oozed from between the Doctor’s legs, and a large elephant masquerading as a baby plopped out from his body, drawing the headless mounds of the bone titans’ full attention at the worst possible time.


	14. Chapter 14

Then the Doctor heard his child’s first cry, a big, fat bellow that shook the ancient catacomb walls as if they were fragile paper.

 

And he smiled.

 

His fingers reached out into the empty air and clutched, straining to pull at the nothingness around him.

 

So much blood.

 

So much.

 

He was circling the drain of unconsciousness.

 

But he could almost… feel it… hovering there, bouncing and jostling with the swallowed titan.

 

Lucifer’s golden sword.

 

“You know, Shubby,” he laughed harshly, writhing as his body screamed in protest at any movement below the waist, “It pains me to say this but, you were right. I am a stick. I am just a great, big, bloviating, stick in the mud. And now…”

 

“AND NOW WHAT, TIME LORD? YOUR CHILD IS BORN- YOU ARE WEAKENING, SOON TO BE UNCONSCIOUS; AS SOON AS IT TOUCHES THE FLOOR, IT IS AS GOOD AS MINE. THEN I AM THROUGH. THEN I WILL CONSUME THIS UNIVERSE, AS I CONSUMED MY…”

 

“And now,” the Doctor finished, blinking away shards of narrowing vision, “I’m gonna prove it by giving you a great big splinter.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, TIME LORD? WHAT IS THIS SUDDEN PAIN IN MY…” Shub Niggurath’s squirming voice wailed suddenly from every atom, every quark, every picosecond of time contained within the catacombs.

 

The golden sword of Lucifer burst through a random point in the wall, with a spray of bone and black fluid portal.

 

“Castiel! Now would be a good time!” the Doctor screamed, sinking back onto the bones, one hand stuck between his legs, fingers wrapped around his baby’s purpled head, keeping her from the bones, from the dark, “banish the Old One while he’s distracted!”

 

Suddenly the golden sword jerked up, as if strong hands had fastened on its gleaming hilt, and Castiel’s voice came blowing across the darkness in a penetrating wind.

 

“Thursday’s Child is full of grace, lest you forget,” the angel breathed, climbing out of one of the fracturing portal pieces as the Doctor caught his breath on the bone-strewn floor, “Are you all right, uncle Metatron? Is the baby untouched?”

 

No answer.

 

Sword raised in stance, Castiel waited, a pained look growing over his face as he stared at the unmoving figure of the Doctor, bloodied and curled up in a ball around his stomach, one hand stretched between his legs, holding the baby’s exposed head up from the damning bones.

 

“I’m going to… touch you in a minute, if you don’t hurry up and… seal that damn…uhh.”

 

“Doctor!” the angel cried, dropping the sword and running to the Time Lord, who had started shaking, presumably from the blood loss.

 

Shub Niggurath’s voice boomed from somewhere behind then, gravelly, distant.

 

“I STILL HAVE ONE OF YOU, TIME LORD. THE ANGEL HAS FAILED. YOU HAVE NOT DEFEAteeeddd meee…”

 


	16. Chapter 16

“It appears to be Dean,” Castiel murmured as he settled the Doctor onto the boys’ couch back in the Vimana.

 

The Doctor rubbed his stomach, wincing at the bruised sensation, then at the smell coming from the baby sleeping in the crook of Castiel’s other arm.

 

“Yes, well, I could have told you that, if I hadn’t been drugged, hypnotized, fried, baked and basted by the Wonder Twins…” he muttered, his eyes slipping over everything in the room, as if looking for hidden chocolate, “Sam is awake, I take it?”

 

He scrubs his hair back over his face and adjusts his ruined white robe to cover the scratches from the bone titans in the catacombs, heaving a sigh as Castiel leaves the room to stem the tide of flowing baby stench with a fresh diaper.

 

“Yes, Sam is,” Sam Winchester called out, striding in without a beer in hand, for once, his long, slightly dirty hair waving limply, “Castiel mineswept me earlier. They’re keeping Princess Dean in another castle.”

 

Reaching behind him, he dragged a water bottle from his pocket and brought it to the Doctor, then knelt next to the couch so the Time Lord could drink.

 

“You look like hell, Doc- what’s the plan?”

 

“I don’t know, Toad, you tell me- I played Mario Brothers too you know.”

 

“Well,” Sam said softly, grabbing the Doctor’s arm and shattering the wrist in one swift motion, “the angels may have the phone box, but I have you.”

 

Shub Niggurath had won.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Sam Winchester’s eyes burst over with pure black sclera; the Doctor cried out, then bit his lip as dark purple splotches of bruise welled over the skin of his wrist.

 

Then, thick black tentacles wriggled out between Sam’s teeth, down from his nose, out from his ears, creeping like spiders under his skin.

 

“CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? DOCTOR?” Shub Niggurath gurgled softly from Sam’s mouth, licking Sam’s lips with Sam’s tongue, before switching to Sam’s voice, “Dean, wake up! Hurry!”

 

The world began to cave in on itself, then, the arms of the couch twisting like a pretzel.

 

“Poisoned water, really, Shubby?” he murmured, unimpressed. “And by the way, Sam Winchester would never dare call his brother Princess. Dean! Now!”

 

A flurry of rock salt boomed from the doorway. Sam Winchestesr’s possessed body staggered back, not at the impact, but at the sight of Dean Winchester with a shotgun and a grin.

 

Castiel stood in the other doorway, holding a mixing bowl and an empty box of borax, his trenchcoat drenched with slightly silvered water.

 

“Hey, Ass Butt!” the angel yelled, brandishing his bowl full of borax dough, “I just made a Hulu doll! Want to try it out?” He holds up a wet effigy, a 6 year old’s idea of an octopus.

 

Dean stops a second to stare, his eyes gleaming with approving man tears.

 

“That’s beautiful Cas, but it’s actually houdoun, and shouldn’t that be a vodoun doll? We want to banish this fucker, not fall in love with it! Hell, Cas! There’s no time! Let’s gank this douchebag!”

 

Resting for a moment on the couch, the Doctor met Castiel’s gaze and then rose up, opening his mouth, letting his eyes glow with all his Timelord-y power.

 

“Let me add something to that doll, Cas- GACK!”

 

Sam’s fist clenched on the Doctor’s throat, just as the Time Lord began to blow a tiny mist of gold toward the little doughy octopus.

 

“Doctor!” Dean cried, throwing the emptied shotgun down.

 

Castiel reached out to grab the bit of gold mist, but Shub Niggurath caught it first, tossing it down Sam’s throat like a last bite of pie as he tightened Sam’s fingers around the Doctor’s neck.

 

Dean ran toward the struggling Time Lord, shoulder down, like the star running back five yards from the goal.

 

But Shub Niggurath dodged the charge at the mast moment, and Dean sailed over the couch, headfirst into the wall- a knockout.

 

Then the Sam-thing turned, smiled, and threw the Doctor through the wall where Dean lay, the room where his daughter was sleeping.

 

“HERE’S LOOKING AT YOU, KID…” the Old One mused as it shoved a hand out and blew Castiel and his borax octopus through two adjacent Vimana.

 

The angel went sailing over a random holy cow, straight into next week.

 

Then the Great Old One laughed as he picked up the golden sword and swallowed it whole, then stomped off into the baby’s room.

 


	18. Chapter 18

The baby started crying.

 

Castiel was unconscious, his face buried in squishy, acrid-smelling bits of borax calamari.

 

The Doctor was sticking half out of a wall, clutching his side. Dean was unconscious at the base of a square décor pillar.

 

Shub Niggurath sighed contentedly as it reached Sam’s fingers, dark and fat with black veins, into the makeshift crib of pizza boxes and torn silk robe strips where the Doctor’s newborn daughter was bawling her little shut eyes out.

 

“NOW WE CAN BE ALONE, MY LITTLE PEARL ONION! I THINK I’ll EAT YOU WITH A NICE PIECE OF FISH! WASH YOU DOWN WITH SOME ANGEL’S BLOOD AND A SIDE OF BROILED WINCHESTER!”

 

As it cackled from Sam’s lips, it didn’t notice the Doctor slip silently from the hole in the wall his broken body had made.

 

It didn’t notice him hiding in its huge curving shadow as he came up behind it, and…

 

…

 

…

 

… plunged his arm down Sam Winchester’s throat.

 

“Ingrid Bergman’s hair is lighter! Plus she smelled better!” the Doctor bellowed, countless fires ablaze in his ancient and terrible eyes, “That’s my daughter, not your bento you overgrown box troll! Do you hear me? She’s MINE!”

 

Shub Niggurath gasped in breathless surprise.

 

“GLUR! DKTR! YOU…WLL NOT… GRK. SKSD…”

 

Suddenly tentacles erupted from Sam’s ears and swatted the Doctor away, into another wall. This time though, the Time Lord stayed down, one wet hand clenched in a fist.

 

But just then, Sam’s possessor looked down, into the face of the baby he was so bent on consuming.

 

The eyes opened.

 

Light sparkled behind those iridescent orbs, and…

 

Something…

 

The black tentacles fell away from Sam’s ears, crumbling into dust. The black sclera disappeared from his eyes, and he fell to the ground.


	19. Chapter 19

“… did the baby just Imprint on Dear Old Shubby?” came Lucifer’s chuckling voice, cracking every so often under the presence, one suspected, of popped corn and mayhem.

 

Michael carried the Doctor; Castiel carried Dean.

 

And Lucifer, grinning like the fallen angel he was, wiped his cheesy fingers on Dean’s ass and went to pick up Sam.

 

“So, Dino,” Lucifer yawned, ruffling the head of the family’s new pet, a small black kitten with octopus legs, when do I get my golden letter opener back? I need it to… you know… stir sea monkeys and curse strange dragon children named Haku.”

 

“Heh,” Dean choked, laughing weakly in Castiel’s harried grasp, “maybe when Hell freezes over. It’ll look great next to my LARPing trophy.”

 

“Didn’t you steal that from that redheaded chickie?” Gabriel quirked, slapping Lucifer on the ass.

“Uhhh…” the Doctor groaned weakly, his broken ribs straining against Michael’s strength before sighing and settling back again after a careful exhale, “…Lucifer… thought you were… gonna play Auntie?”

 

“PROVE IT DICKBAG!” Dean screamed at Gabriel, only to find himself dumped face-down in a pile of dirty diapers.

 

Castiel stood over Dean, staring disapprovingly.

 

“Dean, the baby is awake now! Don’t do that!”

 

It was at this point that a dirty diaper sailed through the air at Cas’s head.

 

“Dean Winchester!” he admonished loudly from behind a partially bandaged head, protected by two walls, a force field, and a corner of the TARDIS, “That, that is unsanitary!”

 

Castiel sighed, then looked over at the Doctor and said, “So what did you name her?”

 

“Bebedora. Like that adorable harbinger of the apocalypse from Arc the Lad 2, not the Spanish town.”

 

“I… am afraid I did not play that one, Uncle Metatron.”

 

“Ah, well. Why don’t you come with me to the TARDIS? I have a copy, and the best library in the universe, if you don’t want that. Tons more peace and quiet, besides. And Jack, he’s probably worried sick, waiting to see his daughter. And me. Although, we can always just watch the match between Dean and Michael in the console room…”

 

The Doctor picked up his baby, and Castiel helped him to the TARDIS. And the kitten-squid jumped down from Lucifer’s arms to follow.

 

 

“BOYS!” griped the Doctor from outside before walking into the TARDIS with Cas, “the least you could do is aim them at Michael first. We wouldn’t want to play favorites.”

 

The archangel gaped, his mouth hanging there, just so, like a suffering ellipse.

 

A pause quickly filled with stinky diaper.

 

“FIGHT! FIGHT!” Dean cried, hiding behind his shrinking pile of disgusting ammo.

 

“Michael,” Lucifer purred, “I do believe you’re full of shit.”

 

 

END

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
